Sparks
by scrimshaw
Summary: A collection of drabbles about Gary Preston and Linda Dale, aka the Flame and Flame Girl. From the Fox Features comics (1939-1942).
1. Tinder

He'd fought before coming to America, in practice matches and athletic tests. But Gary had never raised his hand against another intentionally. It was a foreign idea understood in translation. Leaving the monastery of his youth on a mission to the unknown land of his parents would put him to the test.

He saw wickedness on the boat over and reported it. Little changed but he didn't feel up to intervening just yet. He wondered if he ever would.

The elderly couple he saved from a mugging after disembarkation taught him better. After that catalyst, the Flame burned with resolve.


	2. Follies

Shortly after Linda started working for Gary Preston, Private Detective, she found out he had never been to a Broadway show. The movies, yes: he'd seen Chaplin and the Marx Brothers, and liked the news reels, but nothing approaching a real stage. "Didn't your high school do a play?" she asked over lunch.

"No." At her incredulous look, he shrugged. "Just, church things, you could say. Reverent. Thoughtful."

It wasn't easy, but by his birthday she managed to save enough for two musical tickets. It was worth the price of admission to watch him try to puzzle out a plot.


	3. Small Favors

The Flame could travel through any fire known to man, from blazing buildings to burning logs. The heat never bothered him. As smoking seemed the recreational activity of choice in New York, he made sure to keep a pipe on hand to explain any lingering odor after his adventures. Few noticed or cared.

The biggest problem he faced were matches. Far easier to find than other sources of fire, they were fickle: a head that sparked and sputtered could turn a dramatic entrance into an embarrassing fall or even a wretched, painful defeat.

He began giving out Zippos like candy.


	4. Auld Losar

December proved tough; already an orphan, Linda had no family left after her aunt's arrest. Decorations and seasonal cheer just reminded her how alone she was.

When her new boss whisked her out of the office early for a "festival," she tried to protest. "Don't worry," Gary cajoled, "it's not that kind of holiday."

He led her through Chinatown to a little temple. Incense and chants soothed her; neither the company nor the dough balls were too sweet. " _Tashi delek_ ," they called after the departing couple.

"Good fortune," he translated. "Or near enough."

And it was.

* * *

 _This drabble is posted in honor of the Tibetan/Chinese New Year, called Losar in Tibet and celebrated next Monday (February 8). Even though Gary became a fully American hero, I think he would still honor some of the customs of his youth.  
_


	5. Kindling

Gary offered Linda a job because she needed it, and after sending her aunt to jail he felt responsible. She kept her cool when it counted, had a good head, and thought fast on her feet. She was pretty, too, but that didn't really matter.

It didn't. Not really. She kept things tidier around the office, brought in a plant to cheer things up, and typed well. She looked nice framed in the window.

Being raised in a remote Tibetan monastery, he wasn't quite sure how to start things off. She took pity on him and invited herself to lunch.


	6. Buried Treasure

When Gary handed her a Zippo lighter, Linda politely declined. "I don't smoke," she explained.

He handed it back. "Just keep it. As a keepsake." He spoke in that slightly awkward way he had when trying to meander through a conversation he'd rather avoid. "You never know when a flame could come in handy."

She put it in her desk drawer and promptly forgot about it.

Weeks later, alone and with armed men just outside the office door, she found it while searching for a weapon and popped the lid by accident.

The Flame that appeared came in very handy.


	7. Afterglow

Linda remembered her parents. She knew them mainly by photographs left behind: her mother's coiffed hair, her father's stringy mustache, their frozen, sepia expressions. Then there were assorted hazy memories: dim sparkles that would occasionally gain texture but usually remained in silhouette. Sometimes there was a dull ache like an old tooth. Often there was nothing at all.

Gary barely knew who his parents were. There were no mementos or pictures, and no remaining relatives to server as reminders. Just the church records.

It was a mixed blessing. No one came to visit. No one complained when they weren't home.


	8. Flickers

It didn't bother Linda that her employer worked odd hours. Gary Preston was a Private Detective; that sort didn't follow a regular schedule. Nor did she mind the danger or strange characters that dogged him.

She just couldn't stand his habitual lies. Not about big things: he was a gentleman of integrity. But claiming he'd singed his handkerchief in a candle made no sense.

It wasn't just dishonest, it was insulting. Each time she thought about confronting him. Each time she simply smiled and ignored the fib.

Maybe one day he'd trust her like she trusted him.


	9. Hint

div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"  
div class="field-items"They left the cinema with differing opinions. "It was silly," Gary insisted. "Too many coincidences. Errol Flynn should stick to tights: he's no detective."br /br /"It's just a film," she reminded him. "Funny things happen that could never really be. I enjoyed it."br /br /"Good."br /br /"Except when he kept all those secrets from his wife. Actors can get away with that sort of thing, but not most men. It trips them up every time."br /br /He smiled patiently and nodded. "Right. Crime never pays."br /br /Linda smiled herself as he stubbed his toe on the curb. "Neither do lies."/div  
div class="field-items"br /hr /br /Gary and Linda went to see the movie a href=" title/tt0033616/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1"Footsteps in the Dark/a, a comedic whodunit that debuted on March 8, 1941./div  
/div 


	10. Appearances

When Linda first met Gary Preston, he was bright, vibrant, magnetic. He looked like an Irishman, talked like a judge, and moved like Babe Ruth (without all the pudge and bluster). He had bravado, sure, but it was cool, professional, gracious. He had an air of power kept tight under control but at the ready. She felt he was dangerous, to some, but trusted him anyway. Getting rescued a few times didn't hurt the attraction at all.

Finding out he was the Flame wasn't so much a revelation but a confirmation. He'd always been her knight, shining armor not required.


End file.
